


Half of a Whole

by tsuristyle



Category: Inception (2010), SMAP
Genre: Inception AU, M/M, but with 2tops, the elevator scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: Tsuyoshi took another step only for something to snap underfoot; he looked down to find a wine glass, already shattered, its contents long since emptied into the hotel carpet."What're you doing here?"Tsuyoshi spun, stepping back unconsciously. A man was seated on the end of the bed, dressed in slacks and an white unbuttoned shirt, long hair cascading in a dark fall over his shoulders. There had been no one there a moment ago.(Scene from an Inception AU plotbunny, featuring Nakai's elevator of regrets.)





	

Tsuyoshi opened his eyes in an elevator. It was dimly lit, oxidized metal creaking underfoot, wrought-iron grille rattling though no floor was lit to indicate a destination. It seemed to travel without beginning or end, as though trapped in an endless loop by its dreamer.  
  
_Paradox_ , Tsuyoshi thought to himself, and pressed a floor.   
  
The button glowed; overhead, the lights flickered as if in response. Rusted gears whirred and groaned, and with a faint chime announcing its arrival, the elevator ground to a halt. Beyond the grille was a seemingly-normal hallway, leading into the living room of a small but cozily-furnished apartment in evening. Voices emanated from somewhere within, rising and falling over the sound of chopping vegetables in what soon resolved itself into a heated argument.   
  
"--was just a dream, a world we built together--"   
  
Tsuyoshi rested a hand on the cold wrought iron. He couldn't catch the response, somehow muffled by the distance. But he knew the voice he could hear.   
  
"--we woke up from that, don't you remember how we--"   
  
The sound of kitchen preparations stopped. Whatever exchange followed was too quiet to be heard; all that reached Tsuyoshi's ears as he peered through the grate was the thump of his own heartbeat.   
  
"Because this _is_ reality! We're awake, alive, why can't you just _trust_ me--"   
  
A sudden scrape of metal rang out sharp and hollow, like a knife being snatched up from a cutting board--   
  
"Nakai!" Tsuyoshi wrenched the grille open, bracing himself to plunge down the hallway into the scene beyond. All noises ceased; at the end of the hall, Nakai stumbled into view, pale and blinking in confusion at Tsuyoshi as though waking from a dream-- metaphorically, at least.   
  
"You," he started, glancing sideways at his unseen interlocutor and then back at Tsuyoshi. "You shouldn't be here." He seemed to regain his senses and strode quickly down the hallway, guiding Tsuyoshi back into the elevator with a firm hand on his arm. "What are you doing here?"   
  
"I was just--" Tsuyoshi peered over Nakai's shoulder; a shadow crossed the light from the kitchen, as though someone had stepped into the living room and was about to come into view-- Nakai caught his line of sight, and closed the grille; the elevator rose back into perpetual transit as if by its own accord, or perhaps by its dreamer's. "I wanted to know what you were doing," Tsuyoshi admitted, shifting his gaze back to Nakai with a mix of disappointment and guilt. "You said you don't dream normally anymore."   
  
Nakai fixed him with a sharp look. "That doesn't give you the right to come into my head and _look_." He folded his arms and sighed, glancing away at the creaking iron gate. "But fine, if you're so curious. I'll show you what I'm doing."   
  
He pushed past Tsuyoshi to run his fingertips down the buttons in almost loving consideration, though his hand lingered just above the bottommost as if reluctant to touch it. "These are my dreams," he murmured, and chose a floor.   
  
The elevator rattled meaninglessly, and slowed to a stop. The _ding_ of their arrival was incongruent with the scene beyond the grille, salt air rushing in on a cool breeze to ruffle their clothes and hair.   
  
They stepped out onto a windy beach, seagulls calling over the crash of waves and hiss of eroding sand. Before them, a surfboard lay next to a spread blanket, the latter held down by sunscreen, towels, a half-read book laid open on its face. On the side closest to the ocean, a pair of sandals too small for an adult lay kicked off in the sand; a set of footprints led away from them down to the water's edge.   
  
"Not ours by blood, of course, but it didn't matter, it doesn't matter..." Nakai was gazing out at the waves; there, Tsuyoshi could make out a small boy paddling his own board into the oncoming surf. "He'll stand this time, he'll catch his balance and smile and wave--" Nakai abruptly turned away. "But I'll be too busy reading to see it. And the next day--" He caught the corner of the blanket with his foot and kicked it over onto itself. "It's the last smile he'll ever give me."   
  
Tsuyoshi frowned, watching the small figure struggle through the waves. "You mean-- this is a memory? You said using memories was dangerous."   
  
"It is." Nakai crouched, scooping up a handful of sand and letting it slip through his fingers. "But they're all I have left, even if they're nothing but regrets."   
  
"So--" Tsuyoshi turned, looking down at the older man. "You make yourself relive your memories in hopes of changing them?"   
  
"No. I can never look." Nakai tipped his palm, the remaining sand sliding from his hand. "I never see that smile." Distantly, Tsuyoshi was aware of the boy turning his surfboard around, towards the beach. Nakai stood, an unconscious mirror of the figure out on the waves, and walked towards the line where wild grass stalks started to poke up through the sand. "That's why I'm doing this job. It's the only way I'll see that smile again." He stuck his hands in his pockets, gazing up at the overcast sky. "Is your curiosity satisfied now?"   
  
Tsuyoshi stared at him for a moment, then stepped backwards into the elevator and slammed the gate shut. He ran his eyes down the buttons, Nakai's regrets carefully categorized in order like prize specimens-- and hit the basement floor without hesitation.   
  
Nakai was hiding something, something buried deeper than an argument or a lost smile, something even Nakai himself was afraid to confront. The letter on the button stood out in clear script, barely touched in contrast to the well-worn numbers ranged above it.   
  
The elevator descended rapidly, this time glimpses of floors flashing past as it hurtled downward. A boy's childhood bedroom, a dreamcatcher hanging over the bed-- the apartment in daylight, revealing the same dreamcatcher on the far wall-- a rushing crescendo of thunder and light and steel that Tsuyoshi could barely register as a passenger train before it cut off and was gone-- And then all motion stopped, the chime announcing arrival blanketed swiftly by thick, oppressive silence. Beyond the grille was a hotel suite.   
  
Tsuyoshi slid the gate open cautiously, stepping out onto the carpet. It was a small kitchen suite, the kind that might host a couple and child on a family vacation. The billowing curtains of an open window revealed a glimpse of ocean lit by an unseen moon.   
  
The room was completely torn apart. Table and chairs overturned, dishes smashed, bedclothes disheveled and stained with dark wine. Everything about it spoke of a fight-- or perhaps, a struggle. Tsuyoshi took another step only for something to snap underfoot; he looked down to find a wine glass, already shattered, its contents long since emptied into the hotel carpet.   
  
"What're you doing here?"   
  
Tsuyoshi spun, stepping back unconsciously. A man was seated on the end of the bed, dressed in slacks and an white unbuttoned shirt, long hair cascading in a dark fall over his shoulders. There had been no one there a moment ago.   
  
"Who--" Tsuyoshi barely had time to form the word on his lips before the man stood, padding barefoot across the carpet heedless of the glass. "I asked what you're doing here."   
  
Tsuyoshi swallowed, edging backwards as the man approached. "I'm working with him, I just wanted to know--"   
  
"Wanted to know what? How his mind works, how his heart moves?" The man's eyes were dark; he ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, both stained faintly red. "You can't understand someone completely without loving them. Do you know what it is to be a lover?" The corner of his mouth pulled in amusement his eyes did not match. "To be half of a whole."   
  
He leaned in close, circling Tsuyoshi with unsteady steps. "You can't be whole again. Not even in a dream. Not even when you wake up, or you _think_ you've woken up but can you be _sure_ \--" This last word was hissed in Tsuyoshi's ear, a fleeting impression of hot breath he shouldn't have been able to feel. "And there's only one way to find out."   
  
The man brushed past Tsuyoshi without touching him, treading across the shard-strewn floor to gaze out the open window, resting his hands on the sill. "Only one way to become whole again."   
  
"We're together here." Tsuyoshi glanced behind him; Nakai was standing in the elevator, one hand gripping the wrought iron tightly. "We can be whole again."   
  
The man turned, though his palms still lingered on the windowsill as though he might lever himself up to sit on it. His expression was soft, sorrowful. "This is just a dream, Hiro."   
  
Tsuyoshi inched towards the elevator. "Who-- What is this? What's going on?"   
  
"Our anniversary," Nakai replied, not shifting his focus from the man by the window. "We liked to come here for family vacations."   
  
The man tilted his head with a sad smile. "Our real family is waiting. Can't you trust me?"   
  
"Takuya." Nakai dropped his chin, shaking his head. "This is my fault, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--"   
  
The man-- Takuya-- turned his head to focus on Tsuyoshi, sorrow intensifying into something darker. "You said." The words were not addressed to Tsuyoshi, but the hostility in them unmistakably was.   
  
Nakai raised his head, stepping halfway out of the elevator and reaching blindly for Tsuyoshi's arm. "I know. We will."   
  
There was a pained crystal noise as Takuya moved towards them; the second wine glass of the pair, miraculously unbroken, was now no longer so. Takuya ground the weight of his heel into it, and bent to close his fingers around the jagged stem.   
  
Nakai yanked Tsuyoshi backwards into the elevator and slammed the gate shut. Glass shattered against the grille, followed by a shuddering crash as Takuya himself followed. "You _liar!_ You fucking _promised!_ "   
  
"I'll come back, I promise--" Nakai hit a button at random, pushing Tsuyoshi back against the far side of the elevator as the gate shook. "Just stay here, _please_ , just--"   
  
The elevator began to rise. Takuya threw himself against the grille again, gripping it with both hands as if to tear it away and escape the reality that trapped him. "You said we'd stay _together!_ Hiro! _Hiro!_ "   
  
Nakai closed his eyes. The last glimpse Tsuyoshi caught before the elevator rose out of sight was of Takuya glaring up at them, the anger and betrayal in his eyes as sharp as the glass on which he had tread.   
  
  
Tsuyoshi woke before Nakai. He blinked in the half darkness, feeling the desk under his arms and the cold concrete beneath his feet grounding him in the reality he knew. It was the same reality, but like the aftermath of so many dreams that filled the senses and drew the world larger than life, it felt changed, different in some small, unplaceable, immutable way.   
  
_You can't understand someone completely without loving them._  
  
He lifted his head, and waited for Nakai to return from his dreams.


End file.
